Страница 27 из 68
Kate shrugged and smiled. “I just got here.” She nodded her head at the earrings. “That’s really nice work.”
Bo
“I don’t know anything about beadwork, traditional or otherwise. But I like your stuff.”
“Thanks. I heard about your cabin. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you must feel. It must be horrible.”
“It sucks green donkey dicks big-time,” Kate agreed.
Bo
“Sure.” She accepted a handful of envelopes and a box from FATS Auto Parts in Anchorage, the new plugs she’d ordered for the pickup. Good thing her socket wrench set had survived the fire. Not to mention the pickup.
It occurred to her that she was taking the burning of her two-generations family home awfully well. She wondered how worried she should be about that, but right now her focus was on finding who did it and bringing him to justice. Her justice.
She became aware that her lips had thi
Kate pulled herself together. “Thanks, Bo
Bo
“Yeah. Not a fun way to go. He pick up his mail here?”
Bo
“What did he get?”
Bo
“I’m helping the trooper investigate the events leading up to Len Dreyer’s death.”
Bo
Mentally, Kate curled her lip. Some women went weak at the knees over any man to come down the pike. Any six-foot-ten, 240-pound blonde. Smart. Built. With blue eyes. And a deep voice. And a great grin. And a charm of ma
She blew out a breath. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Dreyer?”
“I don’t know, I guess that’d be the last time he came in to check his mail.”
“How often did he come in?”
“I don’t know. Maybe once a month.” She thought. “Maybe not even that often.”
“What kind of mail did he get?”
Again Bo
There were probably more catalogues per Park rat than there were trees to make them from. The Park was an exclusively mail-order community. Kate remembered the session at Dinah’s computer. Or it had been. “Is there anything in his box now?”
“Oh, he didn’t have a box, Kate,” Bo
Of course he did, Kate thought glumly. Renting a post office box would require filling out a form. Filling out a form would require revealing personal information. And if there was one overriding characteristic Len Dreyer was revealing to her in this series of interviews, it was his determination to remain completely anonymous. “Any mail holding for him now?”
Bo
“Almost everyone comes in here,” Kate said. “Do a lot of them ask you where they can get work done?”
“Sure,” Bo
“And did you send them to Dreyer?”
“Of course. He does -did good work. He put in my new toilet.”
“Did he.” A toilet was awfully uptown for the Park. Although Bobby and Dinah had one. Flushed and everything. “When was that?”
“The third weekend in August,” Bo
“You’re sure of the date?”
“Oh, yes. They were sending Brian Loy from Anchorage to talk to local businesses about the new services offered on USPS-dot-com. He always stays in my spare bedroom and I wanted the new toilet in before he got here.”
“We have local businesses?” Kate said, momentarily diverted from her quest.
“The Association and the school, I guess.” Bo
Wouldn’t be the first time an Anchorageite had manufactured an excuse to get out of town with a fishing pole in hand. “Do you happen to remember all the people you recommended Dreyer to begi
Kate emerged from the post office fifteen minutes later, a list jotted down on the back of one of her envelopes in which she admittedly had little faith. Bo
She needed good coffee and a comfortable chair and someone whose memory was better than Bo
“What was going on in the Park a year ago?” she said around a mouthful of fry bread. She could have waited until after she swallowed, but since she intended on filling her mouth again immediately, this way saved time. If the fry bread was nectar, then the coffee, rich and dark and strong enough to melt the bowl off a spoon, lightened with Carnation evaporated milk and sweetened with dark brown sugar, was positive ambrosia, and Kate was not silly enough to ignore offerings from the gods.
This particular god was a woman approximately the size of a walnut and much the same color and texture. Her still thick and defiantly black hair was caught in a heavy knot at the base of her neck, her brown eyes were clear and sharp and set in the middle of a sea of wrinkles, and her hands, small but sinewy, were sure and deft as they kneaded an immense mass of bread dough. She paused to sprinkle on a handful of white flour and proceeded to work it in with vigor. “Ayapu,” Auntie Vi said, “you okay, Katya?”
“I’m okay, Auntie,” Kate said. The fry bread and the coffee were soothing in a traditional sort of way. She could almost forget that she was homeless.
“Lucky you not there.”
“Yes,” Kate said. “Very lucky.”
Sharp black eyes examined her shrewdly. “You mad?”
Kate took her time answering. “Yes, Auntie,” she said, proud of how calm she sounded. “I’m mad.”
She made the mistake of looking up. Auntie Vi nodded once, satisfied. “Good. But you be careful.”
“I will.”
“I mean it, Katya,” Auntie Vi said sternly. “You have that boy looking to you now. You keep him safe. You build a cabin with more room, make it his cabin, too.”
“I will.” Although for the life of her she didn’t know where the money was coming from. She’d earmarked last year’s earnings to fight off Jane’s custody suit. She wouldn’t touch it. But the kid had to have a place to sleep.
“Good.” Another sharp nod. “Good. Now. What you want to know?”
“You know I was gone last summer.”
“Humph. I know.” Auntie Vi waited, clearly not going to make it easy for Kate. She didn’t approve of ru